Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Rubber Chicken
by Caseus
Summary: Dumbledork peered at Harry over his half moon glasses. “Harry, Voldesmurf has stolen the philosopher’s rubber chicken!" "What?" said Harry incredulously. Dumbledork poked him. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go and make a parody out of it!" Completed
1. The Keeper of the Trees

_Hello! We (the co-authors) hope you enjoy this rather odd parody of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. All characters (well, underneath their replacement names) belong to JK Rowling, an immensely talented lady to whom we owe much literary enjoyment and development. _

_This story was our first attempt at parody writing, so reviews would be great :)  
_

**Chapter One: The Keeper of the Trees**

Rubbing his eyes blearily, Harry Potter climbed out of his bed, adorned with a spider-patterned doona which matched the ones swinging happily from the ceiling. He stared at them grumpily, and said, "Darn wriggly things. Wish I had those little Mortein capsules…" He then cheerfully hummed the Mortein tune to himself…until he looked out of his window.

"HOLEY KAMOLEY FLYING MOTORBIKE!!"

For, at that second, a large Harley-Davidson had crashed into his toilet cubicle.

A large, hairy man wearing a bright pink bandana and large sunglasses clambered off the vehicle, and said a very distinct syllable to Harry. "Yo."

There was a loud banging upon the toilet door, and as it flew open, Harry's Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Cousin Dudley piled inside. (Don't ask how an angst-ridden teenager, a hippy giant, two adults and a more-than-slightly-overweight kid can fit into a toilet cubicle. It was a big cubicle, ok?)

Aunt Petunia clutched Uncle Vernon's arm as he began to turn a shade of beetroot; that is, if the beetroot had been genetically modified to be a lovely shade of blue.

"I'M NOT HAVING ONE IN THE HOUSE!" he roared.  
"A what?" asked Harry.  
"A tree-hugger!" Uncle Vernon's nostrils flared.

The mysterious large figure grunted. "Trees belong ter Mother Nature, man. I ain't taking them nowhere. But this lil' runt" - here he gave Harry a kick, "needs ter go ter wizard school." He turned to Harry. "I'm Hiphag."

"Right," said Harry, extending the 'I' for about ten seconds.

"Now," said Hiphag, "Let's go get yer school stuff. Only no fur. An' nothin' that's been tested on animals."

Hiphag dragged Harry out onto his enormous motorbike. Not altogether unexpectedly, the bike was painted green. With a 'Save the Peruvian Goat Pox Paramecium' bumper sticker.

Harry peered at the petrol monitor. It was nearly empty. "I think you'll have to stop for gas," he pointed out, carefully attempting to extract himself from Hiphag's giant-clam-like grip.

Hiphag swung his enormous girth onto the bike. "Not gas. It's like, Ethanol, baby. Mother nature's bosom buddy."  
Harry swallowed weakly. "Groovy," he muttered.

They shot off into the grey England sky, only to land a few blocks later.

"Welcome to Diaphragm alley," the humongous environmentalist grunted.

Harry oohed and aahed.

After inspecting a book list Hiphag had handed him – (ALLITERATION!) – Harry headed straight for the 'Ye Olde Bits-of-Tea Towel Wand Shoppe'. He glanced over the front counter at the shop owner. "Hullo," said the shop keeper, who clearly had problems with his vowels. "You must be…by Merlin's bum-fluff, Mr. Harry Potter!" He shook Harry's hand heartily. Harry looked towards Hiphag for an explanation…


	2. Harry's Tea Towel

**Chapter Two: Harry's Tea T****owel**

Hiphag turned to Harry. "Well, I'll jus' be off getting yer a birthday present yer not supposed ter know about, and you jus' stay 'ere and buy yer very own piece o' wand tree."

Harry was then left with the shopkeeper, who continued to stare at him. He then spoke.

"Harry Potter," he boomed, "How I knew that this day would come. It is finally time for you to accept the red-checked tea-towel."  
"The red-checked tea-towel?" asked Harry.  
"The red-checked tea-towel," answered the shopkeeper. "Fifty years ago, the Dark Lord came here, requesting the very same type of tea-towel - from the same home brand company, you know. He did great things with that tea-towel – terrible, yes…but great."  
"I don't remember requesting a tea – " started Harry, before the shopkeeper glared at him.

"Let's find you a tea towel."

"Who's the Dark Lord?" Harry asked, trotting after the shopkeeper.  
"Lord Voldesmurf. He-who-must-be-spanked-and-sent-to-bed-without-dinner."  
Harry blinked. Partly out of surprise, and partly because he had walked into a bookcase.

"Careful," warned the shop keeper, and handed Harry a red-checked tea towel. "This," he said, flourishing the material with some amount of flair, "Is a tea-towel, made from the finest hair off the backs of the Apennine-mountain ogre, and containing a strand of phoenix hair."  
"…But wasn't I supposed to get a piece of wand-tree?" asked Harry.

There was a very awkward silence, not made any more comfortable by the entry of several large brown dingbats singing "Merry Christmas," with particular gusto.

"Anyway, phoenixes don't have hair," Harry replied helpfully. "They're birds. And who is Lord Voldersm-"  
"DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME!!"  
"But you said it just earlier!"  
"DO NOT SPEAK LORD VOLDESMURF'S NAME!"  
Harry blunk. "Can I have my tea towel now?"  
"DO NOT SPEAK – oh, of course. Sorry about that."

Harry looked at the tea towel critically. "How do I know that this isn't a regular tea towel, and you're just _pretending_ that it's magical?"  
The shopkeeper tapped the side of his nose. "Because it gives off a faint aura of octarine. See?"  
"No. Do I look like I can see? I wear glasses, for heaven's sake! What's octarine, anyway?"  
"It's the eighth colour."

Harry looked at his tea towel doubtfully.

"FOOLED YOU!" said the shopkeeper in glee. "Tea towels, I ask you…here's your wand, boy, and now off you go, into the big wide world…"  
The shopkeeper shoved him out of the shop, without even asking for a dime.

Harry wandered the shops of Diaphragm Alley, until he met Hiphag again.  
"I see ye gowt ye tea-towel," said the hairy hippy. "Time ter gets ye some robes!"  
"Time _to_ _get_ me some robes," corrected Harry. "You would want to use a past participle aided by an auxiliary verb in this case."

Hiphag became silent, staring off into the distance.

"Er –" said Harry. "Should we get my robes now?" He poked Hiphag, who jumped.

"Yes. Yes we should."

He herded the boy through the Alley into another shop, where he was glomped by an exceedingly enormous woman, who insisted on measuring him all over. As Harry waited patiently, he noticed another boy also being scrutinized. "Hello," he said good-naturedly.

"Sod off," replied the other boy. "No, wait; you're Harry Potter, aren't you? Oh, in that case, pleased to introduce myself. I'm your nemesis in this tale, Darko 'I'm a little snivelling wretch who sucks up to the potions master and really deserves a hard kick in the pants' Malfoil."  
"Nice nickname," replied Harry, sarcastically. "It suits you."  
"Thanks," Darko replied. "You're ugly. Chocolate frog?"  
"No thanks. I get the feeling this is going to be a long and beautiful enemyship."

"HARRY!" called Hiphag from the waiting room. "Hurry up!"  
Robes in hand, Harry made a speedy escape.

Hiphag treated Harry to lunch at an ice-cream parlour. Harry had a kiddie cone of chocolate mousse royal with nuts. Hiphag had one too. Or twelve.

After Hiphag had finally finished his ice-cream, he wiped off his extremely cool shaggy whiskers (trimmed stylishly at that place two doors down) and turned to Harry.  
"Now, Harry, I shall introduce yer to yer new friend –"  
"Ooh, you're gonna give me an owl!" said Harry excitedly.  
Hiphag glared at him for five full minutes, and then said, "One. We do not _own_ animals, boy - and two, I'm gonna give yer a Hippofluffyduck!"

With that he pulled out a Hippofluffyduck, which resembled a furry yellow beetroot. (In case you were wondering, yes, we _are_ very fond of beetroot.)

Hiphag then handed him a train ticket. "Your train leaves at 11:00, at platform 9 and 4/199134348."  
"Okey doke," said Harry.

Last stop, Gringottens!" said Hiphag, dragging Harry to an extremely 'banky' looking building.  
"Ahh," Harry sighed in wonderment. "At last, a testament to our materialistic society..."  
"Yer, whatever," muttered Hiphag, trying to roll a joint in his enormous pocket without actually looking like he was trying to roll a joint in his enormous pocket without trying to look like he was...well, you get the general idea.

Inside the bank, a particularly fugly little goblin came up to them.  
"Are you looking for THE SECRET ITEM OF DOOM!" it asked in a croaky, fugly goblin sort of voice.  
"Yer, the philosopher's –" Hiphag gave Harry a sidelong glance.

Harry grinned brightly.

Hiphag gave him a little frown and coughed.

Harry gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

"Yer," Hiphag started again. "The SECRET ITEM THAT MUST ALWAYS BE SAID IN CAPITAL LETTERS. Yer, that one."

The fugly little goblin handed him a grubby box with a sticker containing the words "Will Explode When Dropped" pasted on the side.

Hiphag nodded at the goblin.  
The goblin nodded back.  
Hiphag nodded at the goblin.  
The goblin nodded back.

Hiphag no- "Ahem," muttered Harry. "Sorry to interrupt this bobblehead convention, but my train will be leaving any minute now. Shouldn't I be at platform nine and four... somethingths... by now?


	3. Platform 9 and 4 Somethingths

**Chapter Three: Platform ****9 and 4/199134348**

A few unimportant plot events later, and Harry was standing in Kings-R-Us station, looking at the pillar between platform nine and platform ten.

"Hey," said someone behind him. Harry turned around. A very tall, gangly boy with a face more freckly than chocolate freckle reunion stood behind him.  
"Hi." said Harry.

The tall boy stooped a little, to Harry's level. "Sorry, mate," he said cheerfully. "Can't hear you up there. I'm Rhon. Are you trying to get to platform twelve and four somethingths?"  
"Yeah," said Harry slowly. He sensed the 'h' in Rhon's name, and asked, "Your name wouldn't happen to be short for anything, would it?"  
Rhon blushed a deep forest-berry colour. "Erm. Yeah. It's short for... do I have to say it? It's short for..." He leaned towards Harry and whispered, "Rhonda."

Harry tried (not very hard, alas) and failed to suppress a snigger.

"Oh, be quiet," said Rhon. "Due to the countless generations of male heirs running through the Weasley family, my highly eccentric mother decided to give me a girls' name."  
"Riiiiight..." said Harry.

"And that's not all -" Rhon continued, before a short girl with flaming red hair approached.  
"Whoa," said Harry. "You have flaming red hair."  
She stared at him for several seconds before clearly enunciating the syllables - "Ug. Mil. Pot. Werbie nerbie. Potter wotter."  
Rhon looked at her in concern. "You all right, Gin?"  
"Whoa," Harry said to her. "You have flaming red cheeks."

"Rhonda! Gin'n'Tonic !" a plump woman with bright auburn hair sang out. "Come here, my girls. Time to pass through the Looking Glass!

"Uh...what's with the Alice in Wonderland connotation?" asked Harry.  
"Wizards pass through the Looking Glass to access the Magic Train Station platform 9 and 4/199134348," explained Rhon.

As Harry followed his new friend, Rhon, through the Looking Glass (an enormous mirror in the middle of the station, which, curiously, no-one seemed to think was odd) he asked him, "So your mother called you Rhonda, but she failed to call her own daughter a decent girls' name?"  
"That's not the half of it," Rhon replied sadly. "My older brothers are Georgina and Fredericka – but they call themselves Fred and Lord Stumpy."  
Harry raised an eyebrow. Seeing his expression, Rhon shrugged. "I guess it's some connotation to cricket. I wouldn't know. My other brothers are Wilhelmina, Charlize, and Percy."  
"Percy's a boy's name," Harry pointed out.  
Rhon grinned, and dragged his luggage onto the train. "True, but what self respecting boy would call himself 'Percy' in public?"  
"Thomas the Tank Engine's friend?" Harry supplied. Rhon just stared at him.

Or rather, stared PAST him.

Harry turned around, and saw the most beautiful girl his pre-teen hormones had ever seen. The girl smiled, and disappeared into a carriage, never to be seen again (until book three).

"Whoa," said Harry.  
"Huh?" asked Rhon, snapping away from his own enchantment. "Yeah, that bushy haired girl is cute."  
"What? I was looking at the Asian girl…"  
Rhon blinked. "What Asian girl?"

The two boys entered a train booth of their own, and closed the door. To Rhon's infinite delight, the bushy haired girl was there already.  
"Hi," he said weakly. He seemed to suddenly have developed arthritis in his knees, which contributed to a lot of wobbling. Harry looked at him in some concern.

"Shut up," the girl replied. "I'm Hermitwo Spaynger. I'm smart, I'm preppy, I like cats, and I DON'T like pre-teenage boys' hormones. So don't talk to me or I might end up absorbing your idiot waves and just might end up with an A-."

"I've just made up my mind," Rhon replied. "I don't like you. Chocolate frog?"

Hermitwo scowled, and returned to her endlessly boring occupation of long division, with four decimal places. And no chocolate frog consumption.


	4. Of Toads, Rats and Know It Alls

**Chapter Four: Of Toads, Rats and Know-It-Alls**

Rhon opened a chocolate frog, and pulled out a card. "Not again...I've got –"  
"Ooh! A spork!" said Hermitwo, while Rhon's plot-point flew out the window.  
All three children stared at it as it fluttered away in the breeze and danced over the country side.

"What was that?" asked Harry.  
"It was a plot-point," said Hermitwo primly. "Found very often in the magical world, they pop up when you least expect it. Romantic hinting, however, is always rather predictable –"  
Rhon yawned. "Shut up," he said. "I hate Krummy days like this."  
Hermitwo sniffed. "Who put on that disgusting Lavender-scented perfume?"

At that moment, a very tall, skinny boy walked into the carriage, towering over everyone.  
"I'm Neville Shortrear. Have you seen my chicken? Trevor always gets lost."  
There was a silence as Rhon tried to inconspicuously push his chicken sandwiches out of sight.

As the train began to leave the station, the candy-cart began to trundle through the cabin.  
Harry stuck his head out to look at the wares.  
"What would you like, deary?" said the old woman pushing the cart. "Some pumpkin juice?"  
"Er… not really," Harry replied, pulling a face.  
"TOUGH COOKIES!!" shrieked the old woman, tossed a box of pumpkin juice at Harry, and raced off down the corridor at Mach 5.

Harry blunk.

A few hours passed. There was a squeaking noise from Rhon's bag.  
"What's that?" Hermitwo asked suspiciously.  
Rhon grimaced, and pulled out a really bedraggled rat from his bag. "This," he groaned, "Is…Scrappy, my ra."  
"Ra?" pressed Harry. "Isn't that like the Egyptian god? I remember in the third grade –"  
"No," said Rhon. "I just don't think this animal deserves the full title of its species. But I know a spell to make him octarine, if you'd like to see…"  
"Octarine?" asked Harry. "Is that like nectarine?"  
"Nnnnnn...no." Rhon waved his wand in the air. "Butter, honey, sunshine mellow - let me turn this stupid, fat rat octarine!"

"That doesn't rhyme, you twit," Hermitwo said.  
Scrappy grunted, and scratched his ear exactly seven and a half times.  
Hermitwo stared. "I believe," she said, "that you've turned in him into a rather brilliant shade of _choctarine._ Can you see, Harry?_"  
_Harry rolled his eyes. "Come _on_ people, does it _look_ like I can see??"

By the time they arrived at the station, Hiphag was attempting to rustle up the first-years. "Over here, c'mon now," he snapped. "No, of course there's not a giant squid in the lake! Stop bein' ridiculous, little girl, and get inter that smallish boat over there. What d'you mean is it going ter storm? Of course it's going ter storm, haven't yer ever seen looming grey clouds before?"

By the time the first years arrived at Hogwimps Castle, all were drenched. Some were shivering, muttering the word, "Peashooter" over and over again. It was all very mysterious - not to mention the disappearance of two of their number. Luckily, Harry, Rhon, Hermitwo and Neville's boat made it safely across, though Trevor the (replacement) chicken no longer possessed tail feathers.

As they entered the castle, a tall, thin woman with two black buns on either side of her head came scurrying towards him. "I'm Professor McGallstone. Please prepare yourself for house sorting. And, yes, I already _know _the cinnamon buns in my hair are starting to grow mould. Stop staring."

The first years scurried after Professor McGallstone.

"What's happening?" Harry asked Rhon, who seemed to know more about wizarding matters than himself.  
"They're going to sort us into our proper houses," Hermitwo explained before Rhon could open his mouth. "Using the Great Sorting Cane. They'll put us into houses that best suit our personalities."

The first years moved up onto the dais of the Great Hall, while all the other Hogwimps students looked on.

And there… glowing with golden light… was the great Sorting Cane! A knot on the wood, which looked suspiciously like a mouth, began to speak -

"I will sort you each into houses which suit your personality. There are four houses. Grandmador is for the very brave children who look good in maroon and are cool with people trying to kill them all the time. Then there is Slummin, which is where we send all the rich, snotty kids who think they're better than you –"

"This point in the monologue was interrupted as a bunch of Grandmador students hurled bowls of carrot mash at the Slummin kids. Harry distinctly heard a Slummin student cry out "Oh, mama WILL be displeased…"

The cane continued. "Then there are two other houses, which everyone else seems to forget…uh… the yellow one…uh…Snuffeluff, and the blue one…Ravenscoleslaw. COME AND BE JUDGED!!"


	5. The Great Sorting Cane

**Chapter Five: The Great Sorting Cane**

Arnold, Schwarnie," called out Professor McGallstone.  
A little boy walked out to the front of the hall, looking rather scared. Cries of, "Go Schwarnie!" erupted from every table. Apparently, everyone wanted this little kid in their House. As he walked up, Professor McGallstone peered down at him and said, "Bend over." The kid bent over.

_WHACK!_

"Snuffeluff," said the Sorting Cane in a bored voice. "Next." Schwarnie shuffled away, slightly bandy-legged.

"Malfoil, Darko 'I'm a little snivelling wretch who sucks up to the potions master and really deserves a hard kick in the pants,'" called out Professor McGallstone.  
"Dernit..." muttered Darko.  
Before he even got up out of his seat, the Sorting Cane yelled, "Slummin!"  
Darko sat down, rather relieved, before the Cane yelled, "Come out anyway, I want to whack you just for the sake of it."

Five minutes later, a certain name was called out - "Potter, Harry."  
There were gasps from everywhere in the room.

As the Sorting Cane inspected his rear, it mused for a little while. "Hmmm...a trace of idiocy...just the right element for Grandmador...but due to your love of Oreos I'm afraid you'll have to be in Slummin."  
"I hate Oreos!" Harry lied.  
"Hmm...if you say so."

_WHA-SMACK!_

"Grandmador!"  
The Slummins booed and waved their Oreos.

"Weasley, Rhonda."  
Rhon ambled up, looking mortified. Professor McGallstone glared at him. "That's not you, boy. Go back."  
"It is," Rhon said miserably. The teacher's eyes shot right up, and she backed away slowly.  
"Ah – right then. Ah...just over there, please."

As Rhon walked past her, she backed away as quickly and as inconspicuously as she could manage.  
I think she knows my brothers," he moaned pitifully to Harry. Harry glowered, and rubbed his rump.

"Spaynger, Hermitwo."  
The bushy haired girl from the train stooped up on the dais and bent over, politely.

_TWANG!_

There was silence throughout the hall, as everyone waited for the Sorting Cane to decide. "Hmmmm…" said the cane to itself. "Ravenscoleslaw…no, too irritating…"

"GRANDMADOR!"

Hermitwo straightened and limped over to the first year Grandmador students.  
"I thought they hit girls on the palms of the hands," Rhon muttered. Harry bonked him on the head with a handy candelabrum.  
"Ouch," said the candelabrum.

At this point, everyone turned to the front of the Hall to face the staff table. A tall, white-haired wizard wearing a large pair of earmuffs rose, scratching the side of his nose.

"Now," he said, "Most of you will already know me as your headmaster, Professor 'Dimples' Dumbledork. Yes, I do have nice dimples, thankyou for noticing." He blushed and grinned at the students, who just stared at him.  
"As you are all happily digesting your house-elf created meal ("Not until the fourth book, Albie!" Professor McGallstone hissed) I would like to say a few words."  
He cleared his throat. "A few words! Okay then. Bedtime!"

After several hours, Harry and Rhon clambered into Grandmador tower after finally guessing the correct password ("Noodle head!") and they plonked into their three-poster beds, exhausted. Tomorrow was going to be an _interesting _day.


	6. An Interesting Day

**Chapter Six: An Interesting Day**

Indeed, it was an interesting day.

What?

It was interesting!

That's all there is to it.

What, did you think there would be a punch line? This isn't a joke, stupid!

Oh fine, then, have it your way.

Harry and Rhon woke up to the sound of a screaming, bloody murder.  
"Ahh, the sounds of morning," Rhon sighed happily.  
"Mmmphf," Harry replied. The screaming murder sounds orchestrated themselves into the sound of Neville's chicken squawking at the top of its lungs.

"I AM THE PIZZA!!" screamed a boy called Finnegan.  
"What?!" Harry asked.  
Finnegan cowered. "Oh…nothing."

After checking their time tables, Harry and Rhon made their way down to breakfast, where they met Hermitwo. Suddenly, a whirl of owls flew down from the ceiling, and dropped a great big red envelope in Rhon's lap.

"A Howler," he said, and his face drained of colour (which meant that his freckles looked like they were having a tomato party).  
"Hey," replied Hermitwo. "You're not supposed to get one of those until book two!"

The Howler disappeared in a puff of logic.

Hermitwo glanced down at her timetable, which no-one else had, simply because she was nerdy enough to ask for one.  
"We have…Potions first!"  
"Joy…" muttered Rhon.

They made their way down a staircase in the dungeons, until they came across a large wooden door. It slowly creaked open, and the room inside was pitch black.  
"Come, children," boomed out a deep voice. "Take the chance to come within to learn the secrets of the great and ancient art of telemarketing…"  
"Wrong room," said Hermitwo hastily, slamming the door shut.

Behind the second door were several long tables with a mass of oily black hair at the front of the classroom. At least, that's what it looked like until it spoke. Harry could vaguely distinguish a head and a torso.  
"I'm Professor Snap. Sit down, shut up, and let me perform the tedious duty of teaching for which I am paid the smallest possible amount for. No, I am NOT your friend."

As he marked the class list, his lips curled when he reached Rhon's name. "Rrrrrrhhhonda Weasley?"  
"He just has to dig it," muttered Rhon, raising a hand.  
Snap continued to take the roll. "Harry – our new -idol-object-which-desperate-fan-girls-will-stalk-and-movie-companies-use-as-an-excuse-to-mass-produce-bobble-headed-figurines-and-pirated-t-shirts Potter."  
"Umm…" said Harry.

"Tell me, Potter, what I would get from an infusion of wormwood? A combination of hellebore and parsnips? A mixture of oak and tempura?"  
Harry, of course, had no idea. "Uh…um…maybe…erm…YOUR FACE!"  
"Or Yo' Momma," Rhon jibed helpfully.

Hermitwo stuck her hand in the air. Unfortunately, it got stuck- air is such a sticky substance- so she wrenched her arm out and tried again.  
"Oh, Professor Snap, I know, I know!" she cried.  
"Oh really, Miss Spaynger?" snarled Snap. "If you're so clever, then I think I might just ask y- MALFOIL!"

"Psyche!" Malfoil screeched from the back of the class. Hermitwo burst into tears as Malfoil and Snap hi-fived.  
When Snap had finished with the jovialities- wow, that's an oxymoron for you- he began to proceed with the lesson.

"As you know," he drawled, "I am constantly ignored by the headmaster for a promotion to professor of Defence Against the Dark Aardvark, so I'm going to take out my exceedingly long string of ANGST related problems on yourselves. Any problems? Deal with them. Will someone please shove a turnip in Miss Spaynger's mouth before she wails any louder? No, not literally, Neville, I might get fired for suggesting it. Just poke her in the head a little. Quiet? Good."

He began to unpack a bunch of potion ingredients. They were an interesting bunch of meat house rejects. Eye of newt, toe of frog, wool of bat, tongue of dog, adder's fork, blind worm's sting, lizard's leg, howlet's wing and all that jazz.

"Today we shall be attempting to create Sleekeazy's Hair Potion," said Snap. "The following ingredients will be needed: dandruff remover, citric acid, daisy roots, leech juice, rat spleens, shrivel figs, and the lovely smell of spring roses."

"Alrighty then..." said Rhon, resisting the urge to question the first ingredient.

"Ah...yes...and I shall be the unfortunate victim to try out the potions," said Snap, laughing evilly and forgetting that forty students were watching him open-mouthed.

Harry found the dandruff remover, citric acid, leech juice, but couldn't be bothered to find the rest of the ingredients anywhere. He mixed everything, and coincidentally, it took on a particularly lurid shade of octarine.

Rhon meticulously measured out every ingredient according to the quantities outlined in the textbook. He followed the steps with great precision, making sure that every drop and every grain of each object was mixed in at the exact right time, at the exact temperature. He stirred it carefully, down to the last semi-semi-quarter turn. He then added the last ingredient - the lovely smell of spring roses. His cauldron exploded.

"Dernit..." he muttered.

The bell clanged to indicate the end of class. Snap swooped down upon every student's cauldron, taking samples while murmuring to himself, "Not long now, my pretties. Not long now. Soon, you too will take on the properties of silkiness, sleek enough to rival those ferocious Pantene models..."

Harry backed away. Into a wall.


	7. An Excess of Headgear

**Chapter Seven: An Excess of Headgear**

Hermitwo checked her timetable. "Ooh...Defence Against the Dark Aardvark next!"

The two chums and Hermitwo made their way to the Defence Against the Dark Aardvark class with haste. They found that they had arrived the previous morning (which is bound to happen at least once in your life, when you live in a magical castle). After Time had shaken itself awake and twisted itself around a little to get logic and plot points back into order, it became apparent that what had at first appeared to be a human sized shivering Chihuahua with a bad haircut was actually the Defence Against the Dark Aardvark teacher. When the rest of the class had assembled themselves, he introduced himself.

"I," he said, somehow managing to stutter the single, non-dental syllable, "am Professor S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-... you know, the little f-furry an-animal w-w-with sh-sh-sharp t-t-teeth..."

"Wolverine?" Harry supplied.

"Chipmunk?" Rhon suggested.

"Beaver?" Neville attempted.

"Hermitwo?" Malfoil tried, staring pointedly at Hermitwo's buck teeth and frowsy hair. For the second time that morning, she burst into tears. "Squirrel?" she asked between sobs.  
"Yes! I am P-professor S-s-s-s-s... what she just said!" the professor leaped around excitedly. His curious ethnic headgear bobbled wildly.

They all stared at his curious ethnic headgear. "Hey, what's underneath that?" asked Harry. "There's a big bulging thingy…"  
"Hey…" said Rhon, "It looks a bit like a second brain, you know?"  
"Don't be stupid," objected Hermitwo, "There's a funny protruding object from the back…"  
"Hey," said Rhon, "If you look at it from this side, it _kind of _resembles a nose…"  
"And there are funny ridges above that as well," pondered Harry.  
"Almost like eyebrow ridges," muttered Rhon.

They all stared again at Squirrel's curiously-shaped ethnic headgear. There was a very awkward pause.

"Now, shall we start the lesson?" said Professor Squirrel. He switched to a monotone.  
"Twas a brillig day, when I encountered the Vampyre of lore," he proclaimed, before being interrupted by a loud chorus of sadly genuine snoring.

After a curiously refreshing slumber, Harry, Rhon and Hermitwo awoke to find the classroom deserted (or desserted… it comes with extra whipped cream). Rhon checked his timetable. "Oh. We have Flying Lessons next."

"OMG!" Hermitwo cried in surprise. Harry and Rhon blinked at her.  
"What?"  
"Sorry," she said. "I have a weird affliction that makes be break into chat speak at random moments. BTW, what's flying lessons?"  
"It's where we learn how to fly on broomsticks," Rhon explained as they hurried along a corridor. "The best flyers might be picked to join the Skeeditch team."  
"I know all about Skeeditch," said Hermitwo. "In fact, I own several books on the subject which I will continuously bring up during the year to demonstrate my knowledge on everything under the -"

She was stared into silence.


	8. Flying Lessons

**Chapter Eight: Flying Lessons**

On the Flying Pitch, the students stood in two lines, each with a battered-looking purple Hoover upon the ground beside them. A female teacher was taking them for the lesson.

"Now," she yelled, "Reach your arm directly over your machine, and yell, ON!"  
As if by magic, Harry's vacuum cleaner started up with a gentle thrum. Malfoil's machine started at the same time.  
Ron's vacuum cleaner exploded. (Let's face it, everything he does results in an explosion). Hermitwo's didn't move.  
"At this point in time it should be warming up," the teacher called. "Now, position yourself above the nozzle, and make sure you don't fall off."

At this point, Neville's Hoover sputtered, turned bright orange, and a negative reality inversion forced it to become a zucchini shaped like a stunted ocelot.  
"Dammit," Neville grumbled. The hoover exploded in a shower of gears and mashed courgette.

"Oh dear," said the gym teacher. "I'll have to go to the headmaster's office and get a dustpan and brush, for the entire reason that Harry and Darko need to be left alone so that Darko can antagonise Harry with Neville's forget-me-not ball thingy and the audience will realise that Harry would be a really spiffing Seeker. Toodles, children, and don't touch the hoovers!" she departed, and Harry and Darko did exactly what she said.

"Hey, look everyone, I have a plot point!" Darko leered at Harry. "Look, here it is, in my hand!"  
"Give Neville back his forget-me-not thingy," snapped Harry, "Or I'll...I'll...make my lip wobble!"  
"Ooh, I'm terrified," Darko danced around Harry. "Do you want it back?" He waved the thingy in front of Harry's face. "Fetch!"

Harry made his lip wobble.

"No! Not the face!" Darko covered his eyes and threw the thingy up into the air. Quicker than a speeding monkey on heat, Harry mounted his hoover and raced up into the atmosphere in hot pursuit.

Whipping through the air, he ducked, weaved, and waved gravity goodbye as he soared up, up into the bright blue. His hair fluttered in the wind, and he pulled slightly at the nozzle of the hoover to raise his posture and allow his eyes to scan the horizon for any sign of the forget-me-not thingy. The first-years on the ground whooped and cheered, and Harry even received some crass-sounding wolf-whistles.

It was too late when he realised that it was transparent.

Two seconds later, everyone heard a light tinkling on the ground a few meters away from Neville, who immediately threw a tantrum.

"GNAAAAAAAAARGH!" he wailed. "GNAAAAAAAAAAARGHAUUUUUURGHHHOOGH!"

Everyone winced and slapped their hands upon their ears. Harry pulled down to the ground again. "Sorry. Geez."

He gingerly picked his way through the mashed courgette and forget-me-not thingy pieces and shrugged. He turned on his vacuum cleaner with a _vrrrrrooom _and began cleaning up the mess.

There was a silence.

He stopped, and looked behind him. The gym teacher stood behind him with her dustpan, her mouth wide open. Behind her were about twenty other mouths in similar positions.

"What?" asked Harry.  
The Chosen One," murmured the teacher.  
"What?" asked Harry.  
"The Chosen One! The One who would discover the Secret of the Hoovers, kept by Muggles for centuries. Our beloved Hoovers - the source of our flight, the tools for our wonderful Skeeditch - are mere cleaning utensils!" she finished off dramatically.  
Harry looked at Rhon, who shrugged. "Meh. They still fly."

"And despite the fact that you couldn't even catch that ridiculously easy throw by Darko," said the teacher, "you shall be the new Seeker for Grandmador!"  
All the Grandmador students cheered and threw various artefacts into the air.

"Come with me!" ordered the gym teacher. "It's time you met Schwoodde."  
"Schwoodde?" Harry asked blithely.  
The gym teacher took him to a classroom and called for "Olivia Schwoodde."  
A very attractive young man appeared. "Hullo. I'm Olivia – erm – Oliver Schwoodde." He blushed at his female name.  
Harry blushed too, merely because he was about a foot shorter than Schwoodde. Schwoodde blushed because Harry blushed. There was only one possible reply Harry could give, and give it he did. "Eh heh."

"Come along, Potter," said Schwoodde. It's time to practise with oranges."  
"Why oranges?"  
Schwoodde was silent for awhile.  
"You know, I really don't have any idea. Why is it you first-years keep asking stupid unrelated questions all the time? Can't you just accept things as they are?"  
"Well," said Harry, "It bugs me when things don't make sense –"  
"MEXICAN TACO HAT!" yelled Schwoodde, throwing a rubber ducky and a handful of M&Ms at Harry and dashing out the front door.

On the Skeeditch pitch, Schwoodde then proceeded to explain the complex rules of the all-famous wizard game. "Ok, first rule. Every single player needs to insert praying mantis into their ear prior to starting the game."  
"Uh...why?" asked Harry.  
Schwoodde shrugged. "Tradition is tradition. And this is one the referees enforce with particular zeal."  
"Second rule: under no circumstances can you take out your praying mantis. Unless, you know, it decides your head would make a lovely home and starts burrowing into your brain, but that's just _obvious_. The rest of the rules are just unimportant ones to do with goal-scoring and Seeking and whatnot. Now...think fast!"  
Before Harry knew it, three large oranges were heading straight for his face.

Not knowing quite what to do, Harry stood there limply and the oranges smooshed all over him. "Yuck," he said.  
Schwoodde frowned. "No, you're not a chaser. What about…a beater?" He flew up into the air on his hoover and started to drop bowling balls on Harry. Harry dodged this time. "Did I do well?" He asked.  
Schwoodde shook his head. "No, you're _supposed _to get in the way of the bowling balls. What about this?" He tossed a golf ball up into the air. Harry caught it as it came down. Schwoodde's eyes grew wide. "You! You really _are_ the fabled SEEKER!!"

Audience: (big gasp of breath)

"Huh? Where did that come from?" Harry looked around, perplexed.

"Studio audience," Schwoodde explained.


	9. A Series of Celebrations

**Chapter Nine: A Series of Celebrations**

Because of multicultural week, the Dining Hall that night was particularly stunning as the students were garbed in their own cultural attire. Rhon, who was wearing something green and scaly, finally revealed that he indeed, common to popular belief, had some goblin heritage.

Upon seeing his outfit, Darko Malfoil strode up and made a specicist remark, which was so specicist that It Should Never Be Uttered Again.

But it did result in the planning of a duel for the next night.

"You take that back," Harry snapped at Darko.  
"Alright, I take it back," sighed Darko serenely. "Muggle."  
"TAKE IT BACK, OR – OR – or… I'll poke you!" Harry grabbed his wand and poked Darko in the ribs, causing him to squeak.

Suddenly, Squirrel ran into the dining hall, squealing like a sissy. "THERE'S A TROLL IN THE GIRLS BATHROOM!" he shrieked, and fainted.  
Rhon raised an eyebrow. "How the heck would he know?"  
Dumbledork waved for quiet. "Everyone go to your house rooms and STAY THERE, DAMMIT! The teachers will deal with the troll."  
Hermitwo's face went pale. "Wait, I'm supposed to be in the bathroom, aren't I?" she hurried off.  
"Crud," grumbled Rhon. "We'll have to go and rescue her, won't we?"

Harry turned and yelled at Hermitwo's retreating back. "Oi! Why don't you _not _go to the bathroom, so then we would _not _have to rescue you?"

Hermitwo considered this for a moment, then shrugged. "Meh. Plot points, you know. Gotta keep 'em."

Harry and Rhon plodded on. "Where the heck _is _the girl's bathroom, anyway?"  
Rhon motioned to a passing female ghost. "Hey! We're looking for the girls' bathrooms. We need to perv-"  
The ghost gave him a weird look and drifted off through a wall.  
"We need to_ pervade_ it to rescue a friend...dammit, what did she think I mean?" Rhon said, while staring at a tapestry of His Royal Fuzziness the Bohemian Llama King.

"Let's go," said Harry. "I found this handy map which shows us all we need to know."

"Doesn't that come in the third book?"

"Meh."

They then hurried off to the girl's bathroom. As they opened the door, Rhon took a deep breath. His voice was shaky when he spoke. "I don't know about you, Harry," he said, "but I've never ventured into a socially taboo area before and I'm quite nervous."

"That's alright," said Harry. "Apparently in one of Louis Sachar's books, walking into a girls' bathroom can actually turn out pretty well."  
"Wait...we're talking about the author with a straaaange fixation for holes?"  
"That's the one."  
"I'm not sure I feel so reassured, Harry."  
"Your reassurance is my number one priority. Be sure of it, Rhon."  
Looking even more put off, Rhon entered the bathroom.

And encountered a tea party.

At a small white table in the centre, Hermitwo was sipping green tea. Directly opposite her, was a nine-foot mountain ogre daintily nibbling a small cake. It was saying something in a faintly tinny voice.

"And the dark green patches annoy me so - "

"Oh, yes, I know what you mean," Hermitwo tinkled. "I find it so _awfully _difficult to get grass stains out. And you wouldn't expect that to be a problem with a black uniform, would you? Oh, Harry! Rhonda! So nice of you two to drop by. Two sugars?"

The door suddenly swung open and McGallstone rushed in. "How DARE you! The very NERVE!"

Hermitwo stood up quickly. "I'm so sorry, Professor McGallstone - it wasn't _me_ who ate the last lamington, at any rate." She glared at the troll, whose ears drooped.

"Here, try these jam tarts – second-rate, but still satisfactory."

McGallstone flopped down, looking quite ruffled. "And I asked specifically for you to save me some," she sniffed.

"Well, in light of leaving me no lamingtons, I deduct a hundred points from Grandmador." Professor McGallstone crowed. "But I award the boys fifty points each for Grandmador for having the sheer pig-headedness to think that they could take on a Hungarian Tea party troll. Tsk. I've never laughed so hard in my life."

There was silence.

"You haven't laughed yet," Rhon pointed out.

Professor McGallstone scowled disapprovingly at him. "Well, young man, I _usually_ hgual, so you should count yourself lucky that I haven't done so yet!"

Harry, Rhon and Hermitwo returned to their dormitories.

"Whoa. Are we, like, friends now?" Rhon asked Hermitwo. She sniffed.

"There are some things in life that, when experienced together, you can't help being friends," she said. A warm fuzzy feeling spread through the air. "Unfortunately, attending a tea party with a troll is _not_ one of them. I consider the both of you to be mildly interesting acquaintances, nothing more." She left.


	10. The Mirror of Etelpmoc Ycoidi

**Chapter Ten: The Mirror of Etelpmoc Ycoidi**

It was a dark and stormy night, shortly after the Halloween incident. (This was later known as Royal Lamington Day, and in future years students would take a day off school to bake various common pastries. While eating the desserts, debates were also held, in which the topic of grass stains was thoroughly discussed. Why grass stains, nobody ever knew why.)

On this darkish, stormish night, Harry Potter was having a particularly nasty recurring dream in which he had donned an extra pair of glasses, had joined the Gobstones club, and was had added Hermitwo quotes as a new addition to his conversations. Ron had just broken a Gobstone, (to which he replied "I hope you're pleased...we could have been all killed - or worse, expelled..._Granger_, 1st year, by the way) when he woke up suddenly.

He looked around, dazed. "Weird." He felt hungry, so he got out of bed to see what his opened suitcase could offer him. He found a lump of cheese and a coat hanger. "SCORE!"

His gaze then fell upon a different-sized lump in his suitcase. He prodded it and it squeaked.  
"NEVILLE! Get out of there! Trust me, there are NO Nigerian Fuzzy Snakes living under your bed!"  
Neville crawled out after fifteen minutes of Harry's occasionally violent persuasion. Harry stared at the thing he had been using as a pillow, and gasped.

"My Invisibility Cloak!"  
He donned it as quick as he could and waved his fingers in front of his eyes. "Cooooooool..."  
Shifting his eyes back and forth, he sneaked out of the dormitory and Grandmador tower.

Harry walked along the corridors invisibly, until he tripped. "HOLY-COW-I-NEED-A-ROOM-WITH-A-MAGIC-MIRROR-IN-IT!"

A door appeared in the wall.

"Weird."

Harry went inside. The room was large and airy, and suspiciously seemed to have windows in it, which seemed to add proof to the theory that Hogwarts not only disobeyed the rules of space and time, but cake and squirrel language as well.

There was a mirror placed over by the far wall. As Harry approached the mirror, he began to see himself reflected in it. But his reflection wasn't normal, instead, it was-

"ZOMG! I have to show Rhon!"

Five minutes later, Harry and Rhon returned to the room.

"Look, Rhon, look! Can you see my reflection? Isn't it COOL?!"  
Rhon peered into the mirror. "Nope. Nothing different about you."  
Harry's smile wilted. "Can't you see? I have… I have…" his voice crackled a little as he tried to repress a sob. "My moustache?"

"Nope," Rhon answered. "But I can see myself. I'm making out with Hermi - I mean, I'm Minister for Magic. Yeah. We'll go with that." Rhon looked back to Harry with a dumb grin on his face. "Hey, do you think this shows the future?"

Harry sighed. "How can it? When Voldesmurf tried to kill me, he destroyed all my facial hair follicles."

Rhon shrugged. "Well, it's kewl, at any rate." He yawned. "I'm going back to bed. Byyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeee!" He skipped merrily out of the chamber, before slipping on a craftily disguised kumquat.

Harry looked back to the mirror.

"Looking at yourself with your greatest desire, eh, Harry?"

Harry turned and saw Dumbledork, smiling placably at him.

"Yes, sir. What is this mirror?"

Dumbledork stepped out of the shadows. "The mirror shows what you most want. Many men, women, and even a few chairs have wasted away in front of it, pining for what they most desire but cannot have. Only the wise must realise that sitting in front of the mirror is a waste of time."

"What's it called?"

"The mirror is called the Mirror of Ycoidi Etelpmoc. And it's time for you to return to bed."  
Harry sighed and began to leave. A brainwave came to him, and he turned. "Sorry, Professor, but what do YOU see in the mirror?"  
Dumbledork smiled benignly. "I see myself holding a high-grade spatula. Every year, people give me books for Christmas. No-one ever seems to know of my culinary skills."

Harry tried and failed to suppress a raise of his eyebrows.


	11. Grandmador Versus Slummin

**Chapter Eleven: Grandmador Versus Slummin**

The next morning dawned bright and early, and so happened to be the day of the first Skeedditch match: Grandmador versus Slummin. Harry was awoken by an eerie ethereal singing in his ear.

_"Sweetly down the roads we go,  
__Thro' paths entwined in mist  
__Into thy throat my spear shall probe -"_

Harry opened his eyes and sat up as fast as he could. Next to him was a giggling Schwoodde wearing a purple wig. He leapt out of bed and cleared the floor by ten feet.

"Gets them up every time," Schwoodde sniggered.

At the breakfast table, Rhon was trying to force pickles and anchovies onto Harry's plate. "Come on, Potter. Eat up."  
"I don't even _like _pickles."  
"Your _face _is a pickle!" retorted Rhon, miffed.  
Unfortunately, as he uttered these words he was holding his wand, and Harry's head promptly turned into a large green gherkin.  
"Darn..." muttered Rhon." Sorry, mate."  
"!!#&," said Harry.

The Skeedditch match was starting up. Everyone was hyped. The Grandmador house towers were garbed in old dressing gowns, knitting needles and false teeth. "Gwanmadauh!" they yelled.

The Slummin students were covered in green slime. No-one quite knew why.

Then it was time for the players to fly out.

"Schwoodde!"  
"Jolie!"  
"Ding-a-ling!"  
"Spinny!"  
"Weasley!"  
"Looooord Stumpy!"  
"Potter!"

A pickle-headed red-robed player flew out, to many cheers of "Gwanma dauh!!"

It was certainly going to be an interesting match.

And so they lifted into the air on their hoovers and blasted off into the stratosphere.

The balls were released. The bowling balls zoomed left, and the flying pickle zoomed left. Then Darko zoomed past.  
Down in the Grandmador tower, Hermitwo perked up. "Wha? Isn't that from a different book?"  
"Hmf?" asked Rhon, his mouth stuffed with pumpkin dog.  
"Darko is the Slummin seeker!"  
"Ohmf."  
"Don't stick so much pumpkin dog in your mouth, Rhon."  
"Fmckym."

Harry the Pickle zoomed through the air, oblivious to the game. His brain was filled with gherkin-related thoughts.

"Ahahahaha, Potter, you're a pickle!" scream Darko, as he hurtled past on his flying vacuum cleaner.

"!#&!" Harry replied.

Darko waved his wand and Harry's head returned to normal. "Ha, you're even uglier than before!" Darko cackled. "Did you see that? I implied you are REGULARLY ugly, even more than when you're a pickle."  
"Darko, you're a tool."  
"Daddy will hear about this!"  
Harry kicked Darko's exhaust pipe in, and his vacuum exploded, sending him ricocheting into the Slummin stands.

Suddenly (due to an author's need to finish this chapter), Harry saw a glint of gold hovering over Rhon's head in the stands.  
"FREAKING THE FREAKING GOLDEN FREAKING SNITCH FREAKING!" Harry screamed, and hurtled towards Rhon.  
"OMG!" Hermitwo yelped. "Duck!"  
"Hmmm?" asked Rhon. "I don't see a-"

KLABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM. Lots of splintering glass, shattered wood and flying cushion stuffing settled down on the pitch.

Rhon's head was stuck in a concrete wall. "Mmmphf," he said.  
Harry stood up, cheering.  
"Harry, where's the snitch?" Hermitwo asked worriedly.  
"I swallowed it."  
"Eeeeeeeeew."

Harry looked down at his stomach, where the Snitch was slowly digesting with his anchovies. "It's...still fluttering..."

"Mmmph. Mmphmpphhhhhgargpumpkindog." It was Rhon who uttered this as his head was yanked out of the brick wall.  
Harry's Nimbus suddenly started bucking on the ground next to him. He stared at it until it stopped.

"It's a curse," said Hermitwo wisely. "They tend to lag, you know, whenever there is an excess of oil about. Now who could that be?"

"Oh…SNAP!" yelled Rhon.  
"That's not even a proper comeback, you twerp."  
"No...I mean, Professor Snap! It must've been him who cursed Harry's broomstick! Only...he was a tad too late..."

Harry's brow lowered...his eyes turned darker, and he brought his head further down his chest as he went into a deep, ominous concentration. A dark fog began to form around him.

Hermitwo and Rhon backed away.

"Why else would he try to murder me? Unless...yes...but no...That's impossible..."  
Unable to bear the tension, Hermitwo cried, "What, Harry!? Why would anyone want to kill you?!"  
He turned to her with a black look on his face. "If," he growled, "they wanted to inherit my mother's second-hand spoon collection."

"Oh _no_!" cried Hermitwo in horror. "That spoon collection is priceless!"

Professor Snap hurried up to them. Harry noticed that there was a gash on his leg. He also noticed that Snap was wearing an enormous t-shirt with I TOOK ON A THREE HEADED GUARD DOG AS I ATTEMPTED TO STOP SQUIRREL FROM STEALING THE MAGICKY ITEM OF DOOM AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT written on it.

"Huh, I wonder where he's been?" Hermitwo said coldly.

"Dear me, Potter, smashing your hoover into the ground and injuring your friend!" Snap chuckled evilly. "Let me just look under the rule book- ah, yes, for that kind of offence, I subtract from Grandmador ONE ZILLION POINTS!"  
Rhon blinked. "There's no such thing as a zillion."  
"Isn't there? Oh, well, then, I subtract TWENTY POINTS from Grandmador. Carry on!"

He trundled off happily. Harry and Rhon went off to have a game of Tetris to calm their nerves.


	12. The Plot Point We Just Remembered

**Chapter Twelve: The Plot Point We Just Remembered**

Hey," said Rhon. "You know what hasn't been mentioned lately?"  
"Rubber ducks?" suggested Hermitwo.  
"Huh?"  
"You asked what hasn't been mentioned lately. No-one's mentioned rubber ducks yet..."  
"No! I mean, no-one's said anything for ages about THE SECRET ITEM THAT MUST ALWAYS BE SPOKEN OF IN CAPITAL LETTERS!"  
"Ow," grumbled Harry. "Don't shout."  
"Sorry. Anywho, don't you think we should start acting like eleven year olds and be curious about the ITEM?"  
"Oh yeah," said Harry. "Let's go and be curious about THE MAGICKY ITEM."  
The trio departed to the FORBIDDEN FLOOR to check it out.

"How ever will we ever find the forbidden floor?" asked Rhon.  
"Well, I imagine it might look like that," replied Hermitwo, and pointed to a door with various signs posted around it reading THE FORBIDDEN FLOOR in capital letters (and some in neon!)

Harry, Rhon, Hermitwo trooped together off down the corridor to seek the Hidden Locked Door (also helpfully pointed out by the aid of neon letters.)  
They entered with bated breath. They then exhaled two seconds later because they all had exceptionally weak lungs.

The first thing they saw was the small stall selling t-shirts with the proclamation "I TOOK ON A THREE HEADED GUARD DOG AS I ATTEMPTED TO STOP SQUIRREL FROM STEALING THE MAGICKY ITEM OF DOOM AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT." The _second_ thing they saw was the three-headed guard dog. Hermitwo looked down and poked it.

"Naw," she said, "what a cute widdle Chihuahua."

It yapped at her, and attempted to tear off her ankle.

"Nawww..." said Rhon.

"Ok," said Harry, "back to business. There's a trapdoor beneath it that we need to pass through." Kicking aside the Chihuahua ('yelp!') he pulled up the ring and the door slowly creaked up. They all peered through the hole.

There was utter darkness - a tangible blackness that was almost substantial in its nothingness.

"Uh...anyone got a torch?" asked Harry.  
"I have this dodgy laser pointer," said Rhon.  
"You noobs," said Hermitwo. "You've been carrying wands for nearly a year and the only way you can produce light is through a dodgy laser pointer?"

Suddenly there was a writhing beneath them and the three children were sucked into a tangle of foul smelling vines.  
"HOLY COW!" cried Rhon.  
"Hermitwo, what should we do?" Harry wailed.  
Hermitwo snorted. "I don't know. How the heck should I know? I DON'T KNOW EVERYTHING, DAMMIT! MUMMY, STOP PRESURING ME! WAAAAAAAGH!"

Then she disappeared.

"Wait," said her voice from below them. "I DO know what this is! It's Devil's Carp! It will let go of you if you start being hysterical."  
"I can't be hysterical!" Rhon snapped. "I'm just too damn calm and collected!"  
"Rhon!" snapped Harry, who was waving his arms frantically above his head. "Copy me! I'm the best example of an angst-ridden teenager you'll ever find!" He gave a high scream and he too, disappeared underneath the vines.

Rhon took a deep breath, and exhaled just as quickly. "I can't!" he protested. "I guess I'm too mach-"  
"ZOMG RHON THERE'S A SPIDER ON YOUR BUTT!" came Hermitwo's voice from below.  
"EEEEEEEeeeeearrghhhHHHHH!" screamed Rhon, and he was pulled down quicker than either Harry or Hermitwo.

The trio found themselves standing on a strange sort of woody carpet. What they could see of it in the light showed a line of huge coloured squares, covered with strange, hut-like green and red objects.

Out of the blue, a huge silver money bag the size of a statue plonked in front of them. "Gah!" said Rhon as he hopped back. He repeated this three more times as a silver thimble, hat and shoe performed likewise. The light brightened, and Hermitwo breathed a sigh of recognition as she realised what their next task was.

"Ah," she said softly, "Monopoly."

Her voice suddenly took on the quality of a commanding general. "Harry! You take the thimble. I'll take the hat. And, uh, Rhon...you can be the shoe."

"Yes!" whispered Rhon as he punched the air.

The money bag loomed menacingly.

Within a few short minutes, Hermitwo had bought all the red, orange and dark blue properties and had hotels going up on two of them. Harry had two yellow properties and was eyeing up the last one. Rhon…well, Rhon was in Gaol.

"Frammit. I KNEW I shouldn't have sold Hermitwo my 'Get out of Gaol Free' card."

"Now," said Hermitwo. "If I land on chance, I might get a 'Get out of Gaol Free' card. I can sell that to Rhon and he can go on to buy a light green property."

Hermitwo landed on chance. The card read – 'You have won second prize in a beauty contest. Collect 50'. "Dernit," she sighed.  
It was Harry's turn to move. He too landed on chance. This time it was a 'Get out of Gaol free' card. He sold it to Rhon. Rhon rolled the dice and moved onto a green property. Now the money bag moved and landed on Rhon's new property.

"BANKRUPT!" Hermitwo squealed and pointed at the moneybag. The moneybag fell on Rhon.  
"Ooof." Said Rhon.  
"Whoops," said Hermitwo.

They both stared down at Rhon's lifeless body. Harry poked him with his foot. He didn't move. He poked him harder, this time between his ribs, and Rhon let out a muffled 'Oomph' which he quickly subdued.  
"You're not really dead, are you?" said Hermitwo. "Stop faking it."  
But Rhon persisted in keeping his eyes shut, and let his mouth loll open for better effect.  
"Right," said Harry. "If you're too scared to go on, just admit it, ok?"  
His right hand flopped over onto the floor.  
Hermitwo rolled her eyes and nudged Harry. "Let's get out of here."

They passed into the next room.

There was a small table, upon which were several tubs of different flavours of Jell-O. Beside them was an ancient-looking sheaf of parchment.

_Danger lies before you,  
__While a Bogan lies behind,  
__Two of us will help you,  
__Whichever you would find  
__Two among our number  
__Having a lemon-ish hue  
__May prove to give (cough) discomfort  
__This flavour you must rue  
__If you happen to consume the purple one  
__It shall turn you a lovely shade of blue  
__Two on the left minus the dividend of red  
__Will prove to be quite fatal in your stead  
__Remember: fork + shoe spleen  
__This clue may be quite useful as you glean  
__The multiple of the silent letters in 'phantasmagoria'  
__And the difference of the dark orange tubs on the left  
__Then you must subtract the amount of purple tubs  
__I do like purple.  
__Just get a move on!  
__Bah humbug. _

_(By the way, Potter, you suck. And you got an E- on your Potions Exam.)_

"How do I know that this is Snap's challenge?" said Harry. "And this is why Snap got an E- on English. And how the heck are we supposed to figure out which flavour of Jell-O we're supposed to eat?"  
"Give me a minute," said Hermitwo.

Four hours later, Harry was trying to shut his eyes while Hermitwo scribbled key words like 'constipation' and 'orange-flavoured' on her 113th A4 piece of parchment. "I've got it!" she said triumphantly. "It's the half-eaten one with the fork sticking out of it!"

"How deductive," said Harry.

He ate the red Jell-O, and moved into the last room. But it wasn't Snap. It wasn't even Lord Voldesmurf.


	13. The Philosopher's Rubber Chicken

**Chapter Thirteen: The Philosopher's Rubber Chicken**

Actually, it wasn't anything.

Ha ha! Fooled you.

It was Squirrel standing there, facing a huge mirror. Harry recognised it as the mirror of Etelpmoc Ycoidi. Squirrel looked up. "Harry Potter!" he noted. "Yes, I was expecting you, though from the look on your face you weren't expecting me."  
"No," said Harry. "I wasn't."  
"Shut up, you fool, that was a rhetorical question," Squirrel snapped. "Now, I believe you know how to work this mirror."  
"It's called the mirror of Etelpmoc Ycoidi." Harry told him.  
"Yes, I don't know HOW you can pronounce that, but go and look into it anyway."

Harry stepped forwards. He saw his reflection in the mirror. His reflection grinned and waved, and then pulled a large rubber chicken out from under his jumper. He gave it a cheery squeak and then replaced it. And now Harry felt the real rubber chicken stuff up his jumper. He folded his arms across his chest in a very bad attempt to cover the new chicken-shaped lump. His jumper gave a squeak.

"What was that?" asked Squirrel suspiciously.  
"I farted?" Harry suggested. Squirrel wrinkled his nose. "So, Harry, what do you see?"  
"Umm…I see…myself. Eating a pie." Harry glanced around. "It's chicken flavoured."  
Squirrel stared at him. Harry gave him a stupid thumbs-up. "Man, that pie looks deli –"  
"LIAR!" wheezed a voice.  
Both Harry and Squirrel started.  
"IT IS I, LORD VOLDESMURF HIMSELF, HIDDEN CRAFTILY BENEATH THIS HAT!"

Squirrels ethnic headgear fell away, and he turned around, and now Harry could see…a very sleepy looking toad, strapped to the back of his head.  
"Erm," said Harry. "You're a toad?"  
"NO, FOOL!" Voldesmurf retorted. "The toad is to keep away Nargles. I'm BEHIND THE TOAD!"

And now the toad fell away and a very fugly face glared at Harry out of the back of Squirrels head.

"Neep," said Harry.

"And now," Voldesmurf cried, "THE CLIMACTIC MONOLOGUE APPROACHES!"

He cleared his throat. This was quite a feat, because as far as Harry could tell, Voldesmurf didn't actually HAVE a throat. "I, Lord Voldesmurf, KILLED YOUR PARENTS!"  
"I knew that," Harry snapped.  
Voldesmurf looked crestfallen. "Oh. Right. Well. Um…I TRIED TO KILL YOU WHEN YOU WERE JUST A BABY!"  
"Yeah, I knew that too."  
"Stop spoiling the moment!" Voldesmurf screamed, enraged. "YOU VANQUISHED ME AND NOW I HAVE RETURNED TO EXACT REVENGE!"

Harry yawned.

"OH, THAT'S IT!" Squirrel charged backwards. Harry jumped out of the way, and Squirrel crashed into a handy pillar. "Ouch," Voldesmurf muttered. Squirrel charged again, and this time he grabbed Harry, but then his hands melted.

"That is SO TOTALLY NOT FAIR!" Voldesmurf snapped, and then he and Squirrel melted.

"Kewl," Harry said cheerfully, and fainted.

Harry woke up to see the grinning face of Albus Dumbledork, and immediately emitted a sharp yelp while pulling the sheets up around him. "It's _you!_"  
Dumbledork stopped smiling. "Yes, it's me, you fool. Now where is the Philosopher's rubber chicken?"  
Harry was bewildered. "I thought _you _were supposed to know? What _is _the rubber chicken, anyway?"  
Dumbledork's lower lip trembled, and he burst into tears. Harry backed away even further.

"My rubber chicken! My one and only childhood toy! I've tried to bury it under a bleeping mountain, I've tried to stuff it down my closet, and I've even tried to keep it in a bleeping bank vault! But _still _Voldesmurf holds my Gobstone's record against me! WAAAAAAAA!"

Harry just stared.

"On a lighter note," said Dumbledork, wiping his eyes,"that's a mighty nice 1/2 a sweetshop you have next to your bed. If I could just - "

Harry slapped the hand heading towards his sweets. "NO TOUCHY!"  
"Just a bean?"  
"Oh, all right then."  
Dumbledork took a puce-coloured one. "Mmmm...Ribena."  
He put it into his mouth. "Alas, bellybutton lint!"  
"And how would _you_ know?" asked Harry suspiciously.  
"Erm...gtg now."  
"Alas, chatspeak."

At the end-of-year ceremony, Slummin had won the house cup for the 437th year running. No-one knew _how _they managed it, though some suspected Snap of giving them a zillion points the day before every year.

Everything in the Great Hall was covered in green slime to celebrate their achievement, and the main course was lime Jell-O.  
"Yuck," said Rhon, poking it with a fork. It wobbled menacingly.

Dumbledork walked up to the front of the Great Hall. "Right then, quiet down everyone. I'd just like to thank all the teachers for enduring yet another year with you people and your misadventures – trust me, they always forget the teachers but it's not easy." He sighed, and everyone felt guilty. "On a brighter note, I'd like to announce the results for the house points this year! In fourth (but not least) place, Snuffeluff!"  
There was a feeble and awkward spatter of applause.  
"Don't look so glum, you lot," said Dumbledork cheerfully. "There's always next year. In third place – Ravenscoleslaw! In second place – Gran – Slummin! "  
"Psyche!" yelled Neville and they high-fived.  
"And that leaves us our winner. And for those of you not blessed with basic logic, it's Grandmador."

The Slummin students stopped cheering in mid-whoop with confused expressions on their faces.  
"But they still have negative four hundred and thirty three points!" whined Malfoil, gesturing towards the hourglasses.  
"Oh," said Dumbledork, a little perturbed. "Well...I award four hundred and thirty four points to Neville Shortrear for...for being the generic little character that pops up here and there. Yeah. That's right."  
"But sir, that only just brings them over the zero. They only have one point," persisted Malfoil, pointing at the single red ruby in the hourglass.  
Dumbledork glared at him. "You just have to make my job a whole lot harder, don't you? Fine then. _Two_ zillion points to Hermitwo for being the most admirable nerd the school has ever seen."  
There was a crack as the hourglass broke and the rubies streamed into the Great Hall, filling up to the students ankles.  
"Happy now?"

Three days later, Harry, Hermitwo, Rhon and Schwarnie were in a carriage on the Hogwimp's Express, once more on their way back home. Rhon gave Schwarnie a strange look. "Uh...why are you here?"  
The little kid ran out of the room bawling his head off.  
"Oh...kay."

Rhon leaned back while chomping on a pumpkin dog. "So, I guess we now reflect on the year and how good friends we are now, eh?"  
"Yeah that sounds goo-" said Harry before falling asleep and bursting into a chorus of more sadly genuine snores.

Several hours later, the trio were once more waiting on Platform 9 and 4/1991343456334555.

"So," said Harry. "I've come such a long way from where I was before. I have discovered the truth about my parents. I have found who I really am. I finally have friends and am enjoying school. I have a Hippofluffyduck of my very own. I have defeated an evil villain, broken more than a hundred school rules, and have practically been adopted by my Headmaster, whom I will trust completely for six years before he is horribly murdered by my least favourite teacher who turns out to be good and I name one of my children after him. Yeah… have I missed anything?'  
"Nope," said Hermitwo.  
"That about covers it," said Rhon.

They passed through the barrier of platform 9 and 4/199134345 etc etc. Hermitwo waved goodbye and headed over to her parents, both of whom were wearing white dentist coats and looking suspiciously like strategically shaved beavers. Rhon gave Harry a hug and then ran off to his own family, all of whom had hair so red that it took Harry's eyes a few minutes to adjust.

Finally, Harry moved over to the Dursleys, who were looking uglier than ever. Hermitwo seemed to remember something and ran over to him. "Harry," she hissed. "You _do _remember that you aren't allowed to use magic outside school, don't you?"  
"Yeah," Harry replied evilly. "But the Dursleys don't know that, do they?"  
"No-o," Hermitwo said slowly.  
"Well, I'm going to have a lot of fun with Dudley these holidays," Harry laughed.

THE END

"Ew, that's so suss!" Hermitwo cried.

OK, REALLY THE END.

"No, I seriously can't say how suss that-"

BE QUIET! I DON'T PAY YOU TO TALK!

"You don't pay me at all!"

YEAH, WELL…. LOOK, A HOUSE-ELF BEING REPRESSED!

"Where?!"

SERIOUSLY, REALLY AND TRULY, I CAN NOT STATE THIS ENOUGH, AND I AM BEING REALLY, REALLY SERIOUS- THE END. FIN. THIS STORY IS OVER. GO AWAY NOW.

BYE!

"I don't see a house-elf-"

**THE END!**


	14. Author's Note

Hi all! Our new Deviantart account is caseus-archives.

Hope to see you there! :)


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